


The Hamptons House

by cuphugaddict



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Lake House (2006) Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barisi RomCom AUs, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Episode: s19e13 The Undiscovered Country, Post-it Notes, RomCom AUs, Sort Of, The Lake House AU, blast from the past, mailboxes, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 13:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17809046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuphugaddict/pseuds/cuphugaddict
Summary: After the fiasco of the Householder baby that had him resign from the DA’s office, Rafael Barba gladly accepts the invitation of his friend Rita to live in her house in the Hamptons. Knowing the Calhoun’s holiday residence rather well from his days or rather summers at Harvard, he jumps at the suggestion.On his second day there, he finds a note in the mailbox asking Rita where the family kept the buckets. As the person writing the note was repairing the entire houses’ plumbing, the one provided simply would not do. Perplexed, Rafael answers the note, telling the stranger signing “Sonny” that according to his admittedly rather limited knowledge of renovating work, everything worked just fine.Without intending to, he finds himself writing letters to a stranger who is claiming that he is indeed renovating the Calhoun’s house in order to earn some money for his studies at Fordham. That, however, is not the weird part (Fordham being debatable). The weird part is that “Sonny” is under the impression that the year they are in is 2014.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have toyed around with this idea for quite some time now, but somehow something always seemed a little off. Well, now I am (almost) happy with it, so I decided to share.
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this, guys.  
> Comments and Kudos always make my day. Other than that, I truly hop you enjoy the read :)

 

Rafael sighed once he got off the cab. As the car went down the driveway in reverse again, pebbles screeching, before it turned at the corner, he stood stock still and looked at the enormous house in front of him. Why on earth had he thought this would be a good idea?

 

He mentally corrected himself: Rita had thought it to be a good idea. Of course she had. And Rafael really couldn’t blame her as he was sure she only meant well. After the whole Householder-fiasco had gone down and he had turned his back on his job – not fully on Manhattan just yet – Rita had been there to pick up all the pieces. Like she always was since their days at Harvard. So she probably really knew what was best for him seeing that he was still alive and such. Still, the previous weeks had almost seen to the opposite – they had been excruciating. This was probably the reason why he hadn’t contacted Liv yet. Seeing her only would bring everything up again.

 

So it had been Rita. Rita who simply arrived in his apartment without invitation – as usual – and dragged him into his shower with his clothes still on and a “Jesus Christ Rafael, I could smell you right down into the lobby!” To be fair, he hadn’t even known how long it had been since he had retreated from anything resembling humanity (in retrospect, it had been eight days). Then, she made sure that he ate at least from time to time and that he stayed hydrated on something else than scotch. Then, one evening when his dear friend had forced a burrito down his throat –  “I know you practically inhale them Rafael, so don’t be such a drama queen and eat at least half of it.” – she had _started the talk_. And yes, their friendship truly was a special one.

 

After he had managed to eat the whole burrito – and wasn’t he proud about that himself – Rita had poured some more white wine into her glass. Apparently, she needed alcohol when dealing with Rafael’s antics. Then, she had fixed him with one of her I-will-not-even-give-you-the-chance-to-argue-glares and said: “I think you should stay some time in our house in the Hamptons.”

 

Rafael had only raised his eyebrows at that – most of all because he didn’t consider this to be an entirely atrocious idea. He wanted to get away from Manhattan, at least for a while. To sort through his own thoughts and come up with a backup-plan now that his career at the DA’s office had blown up into his face. He didn’t want to see any of “the usual people”. He didn’t want to face his coll… former colleagues. He generally just wanted a chance of scenery that promised the opportunity of not having to think about the whole fiasco 24/7. Requirements that Rita’s house in the Hamptons fulfilled to the last bit.

 

He had last been there a few years ago on some sort of celebration. He couldn’t remember if it had been Rita’s birthday or her becoming partner in “her” law firm … some of that sort. Before that, he had spent most of his summers there, relishing in the luxury that he himself had never known. Interestingly, he had fitted in with the crowd – perfect training for his now lost job – and hence had some great memories connected to the place. A treasure that he could use rather well now. So he had agreed – albeit reluctantly. He had to maintain the façade of what Rita had so graciously called a drama queen after all.

 

Now though, that he stood in front of an empty mansion, he wasn’t so sure if this had been a good idea anymore. Most of all with grey clouds hanging over the admittedly picturesque house. It wasn’t plain white or grey like the other houses on their street; it was covered in wooden tiles that have changed their colour from the bright brown that he knew from his university days to a beautiful grey-brown. Well-aged, he thought. The window panes were painted white, as was the small pavilion-like entryway. Rafael knew that he veranda on the other side of the house, facing the sea, looked just the same. Despite the cloudy weather, the house looked truly beautiful; still, he wasn’t entirely sure if this empty monstrosity haunted by happy memories would put him out of his miserable into a more relaxed state of mind.

 

“Only one way to find out”, he muttered to himself and took up his suitcases. As he unlocked and opened the door, he was glad that he didn’t bring any gothic novels on his stay.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The next morning, Rafael awoke with something he hadn’t felt in ages: appetite.

As he had pulled the white curtains in “his” bedroom aside – he had viciously taken Rita’s, fully aware that he would never hear the end of it – and saw that the clouds from the previous evening had lifted and the sun shone, his belly had grumbled. Not being as sappy as other people he knew, he wasn’t accounting this to the chance of scenery already contributing to his well-being, but on the salty air. It surely had some effects on … biological matters.

 

Venturing down into the kitchen, he silently thanked Rita that she apparently had put somebody up to buy the bare necessities for him. Which meant cereals for breakfast. Not his first choice, but he vowed to go to the grocery store that he knew was down the street to his right later. Which he did, albeit the lack of a rental car (he cursed himself) and the complete distain of having to carry a few heavy bags on foot, he did something deeply hurting his dignity: He got onto an ancient bike that he had freed from the garage and went to the store on two wheels. At first, he had thought that it didn’t matter because no one around here would know him anyway.

And how wrong he had been about that! Not only did a few people in the streets shout greetings at him – the assumption of general friendliness being abandoned as soon as he heard his name in one or the other greeting – but the elderly lady (still) managing the grocery store on her own asked if he still preferred Earl Grey to Assam. Which he did. Albeit only on Sundays.

So much for anonymity. He wanted to slap his forehead.

 

Once he returned to Rita’s house – wobbly on his bike that was laden with four bags of groceries – he saw that the mailman had been there. The red sign of the normed mailboxes in their street was standing proud in the air. Truly hoping that the mail did not contain some horrendous message from Rita, he was pleasantly surprised to find a simple note in the box. Probably something from a neighbor, telling him to mow the lawn or the like (Jesus Christ, he would have to mow the lawn!).

 

Once he had successfully detangled the grocery bags from the bicycle and leaned the same onto the side of the house, he went inside and put his purchases down onto the spacious kitchen island. Rafael was finally able to take a look at the note then. Opening the sheet of lined paper, he was faced with the most horrendous scrawl he had ever seen. Still, he tried his best at cryptography and started deciphering the message. It read:

 

_Dear Ms. Calhoun,_

_I am afraid that I couldn’t find any more buckets than the one you have given me on my first day. Thing is, this won’t do if I’m going to repair the plumbing in the kitchen … and everywhere else. I need at least two more buckets but couldn’t find any in the basement or what is about to become the pool house. Do you have any in the house or should I ask the neighbors for help?  
Best, Sonny_

 

Rafael frowned – at the kitchen sink, he realized amusedly a few moments later. The state-of-the-art kitchen sink of stainless steel. He reached out his hand and let the water flow – no problems there. He briefly considered that the note had been delivered to the wrong house, but then his eyes fell onto the greeting to a Ms. Calhoun. Certainly the right address. Contemplating the note that stayed on the kitchen island while Rafael stored his purchases, he was absolutely sure that Rita would have told him if anybody was doing some repairs while he was there. Halting momentarily while he put some rice in one of the cupboards, he shuddered at the thought that a random stranger could simply walk in the door literally any time of day. He would call Rita, he decided, and did so while he sat with a cup of coffee on the veranda. The veranda that had a very nice view on a very finished pool house, mind him.

 

“Rafael!” Rita greeted him cheerfully, “Already reacquainted with the good old house?”

 

“And already giving me the perfect opening that I can work with. That’s why I love you, you know?” Rafael chuckled.

 

Rita tsked, “You love me because I put you in the shower even though you wore your most expensive suit.”

 

Rafael rolled his eyes while he took a sip of his coffee, “They say that perceptions of reality are bound to be different.”

 

Rita snorted, “Is there a point to you delaying my lunch?”

 

“Actually yes – even though I’d just like to do it out of spite.” As he told Rita about the note, she seemed as flabbergasted as he himself and assured Rafael that she didn’t know anything about repairs. The last ones, mostly on the inside of the house, had been done four years ago. “Don’t worry though, we have installed a brilliant alarm system. You’ll find an activation guide in the cupboard right next to the keyboard.”

 

Frowning, Rafael decided against it. Before his inner eye the scene of him calling the local police at least thrice while attempting to set the thing up and another two times when he entered the wrong code into the machine unfolded. No, he would not ridicule himself by being the focus of town gossip, thank you very much. He’d rather let some maniac kill him in his sleep. Of course he didn’t tell Rita that. Most of all because he slept in her bedroom; the one with the spectacular view. So instead he thanked her and let her go to lunch. He himself, ventured inside and wrote a small note himself, just in case:

 

 _Dear Sonny,_ [he cringed]

_I have just talked to Rita and she assured me that the last renovations they ordered were terminated in 2014. So I’m sorry to tell you that apparently, you have received misinformation of some sort. Also, the tab in the kitchen works just fine … and the pool house looks very finished to me._

_Kind regards,_

_Rafael Barba (current tenant of the house)_

He put the note in the letter box, drew up the red sign and went outside onto the veranda with his new book and a blanket. Despite the sun, the wind still was rather chilly after all.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Rafael woke up the next morning better rested than ever. At least as far as he could remember. Still, he was not about to tell Rita that (yet) and give her the satisfaction of rubbing it under his nose as long as they lived. So he got up, showered and put of a pair of beige cargo pants, a simple white shirt and a dark blue Kashmir sweater before he made his way downstairs. After having set up the coffee pot and prepared some of the bread he had purchased the day before, he decided that he finally was ready for braving the most likely scariest task in his whole career: opening his e-mail account.

 

The upside of the whole fiasco was that he could delete every single mail from the DA’s office – at least those that sounded official. Quite a few were testaments of people who felt as if they should write to him but didn’t have anything to say. Needless to say, he didn’t deem those with an answer. Then, there were those of people who didn’t know what to say but tried their best anyway – the whole squad at the SVU being amongst them; even Fin (include Stone here as well). And then there were those that truly surprised him, for example one from John Buchanan who told him how sorry he was for Rafael. To his surprise, Rafael did believe every single word he had read and planned on writing the other lawyer back to thank him for his kind words (that he did not know the defense lawyer possessed). This demonstrated that he himself only knew the professional side of most of his colleagues. At least in most cases.

 

Once he had worked through the quite impressive bulk of electronic messages, he wandered through the house quite aimlessly. He completed the task of pulling the wrappings from all furniture in the entire house which did take him quite some time, then reacquainted himself with the Calhoun’s library and got himself another cup of coffee. As he did so, his gaze fell onto the driveway and the mail box standing there with the red sign pointing up in the air yet again.

 

Curious, Rafael made his way out only to find yet another sheet of lined paper with the horrible handwriting on it. The note read:

 

_Dear “Rafael”,_

_ha ha. Very funny. To whom of my friends or sisters do I own that particular letter? And more importantly: How on earth did you find out about me working in the Hamptons? I mean, it’s the Hamptons. I thought that to be a safe distance so no one would find out about it._

_Best, Sonny_

Rafael frowned at the sheet of paper. After a few minutes, he scoffed. What on earth was wrong with the guy? Or girl. Seriously, “Sonny” could technically be gender-neutral. He stormed into the house, grabbing a pen from the kitchen counter and turned the sheet around.

 

_Sonny,_

_why on earth do you think this is a joke?_

_More importantly, if anybody thought that to be the case, it would be my good self. You telling me about how the plumbing in the kitchen does not work even though the kitchen is state of the art? And a pool house-to-be that stands proudly in the back of the house? Clearly, I am not the one up to jokes here at the moment._

_I want to underline that last statement most thoroughly, so I would highly appreciate it if you left me in peace during my residence here._

_Rafael Barba_

 

 

Rafael tried his best not to look too often at the mailbox in the driveway – he really did. He even took his book out to the veranda again so that he would not be tempted to play into the hands of whoever was clearly playing a joke on him. Maybe it was Rita after all.

But then again he had to get up from time to time – either to get himself a coffee refill or go to the bathroom due to the further. And every single time he caught a glimpse of the mailbox. Nothing had changed. So when it was about four in the afternoon, Rafael decided to put on one of his lighter coats and take a walk on the beach. What else was he supposed to do around here anyway?

 

Strolling around aimlessly, he first thought about the summers he had spent here with Rita. He had to grin to himself once he thought about how only during their second stay, her parents learned that the two of them were not a couple. And how relieved Rita’s parents had been that their dear daughter did not date somebody who grew up in the Bronx and only was in Harvard due to a scholarship (they did not think the acquiring of the same to be something worth of recognition). Thankfully, Rita had never been that prejudiced and the two had formed a friendship that apparently not even a dead baby could shatter. He clearly remembered the two of them sitting together on the beach the very evening of the revelation to her parents with a bottle of red, stolen from the basement. Rita had taken a sip, after they had amused themselves on how their friendship apparently looked like to the outside world. Then, his friend had fixed him with a stare while she tried her wild hair back in a bun: “Not that it would matter to me, Rafael, but just to clarify: You are gay, aren’t you?” Taken by surprise, Rafael had realized that his sexuality truly had not come up until then. Not even when they were trying to have sex once. He smirked: “Did you deduce this by my inability to get it up that night?”

Rita had rolled her eyes: “No, that certainly was the copious amounts of alcohol. Back to my question, Rafael.”

The student had sighed, “I think so. Sometimes, I am attracted to girls as well but it’s never … sustained. You know what I mean? … It’s like, I think women to be attractive, can even imagine to sleep with them – which, before you ask, I have – but never … over a longer period of time.”

“That’s only the case with guys then?” Rita had asked genuinely.

Rafael had shrugged, “No one ever stayed around long enough for me to find out … But I’d say yes. It feels different with a guy. More … exciting. For me.”

His friend had waved her hand, “There’s no need to label yourself anyway. I was just curious … and now that I know you’re into guys, well, more into guys, I can look for suitable candidates.” Her smirk was devilish and Rafael had groaned, “Why would you do this to me Rita?”

“Because that’s what friends are for.”

Rafael had raised his eyebrow, “What? To torture and watch from the sideline with a bucket of popcorn?”

“Precisely. Although I’d prefer martinis to popcorn.” Rafael had known that he was doomed from that very second.

 

Leaving the picturesquely swaying reed behind him as he made his way back into the house, Rafael did stop in front of the mailbox before he ventured inside. Yes, the red sign was up – even though if that was still or again, he did not know. He carefully peaked inside and groaned. In there, a freshly folded sheet of lined paper lay, that suspiciously looked like it had been written on only on one side. Rafael aggressively tore the sheet out, slamming the red sign down. Stomping into the house he opened the note, good mood from before trampled into the ground by a handwriting that looked more like a cardioid curve than handwriting. And didn’t that just heighten his spirits?

 

_Dear Rafael,_

_without the intent of annoying you_ [Rafael snorted] _are you suggesting that you currently live in the Calhoun family’s house?_ [“Jesus Christ give me patience!” Rafael exclaimed, “And he even underlined it!"] _Because that’s impossible. First of all because the house is a mess. The huge storm during winter has demolished the roof, water got in, the plumbing does not work (probably a problem with the tubes), windows are smashed, the floors are destroyed and the veranda out back has collapsed._

 

Rafael took a few steps further into the huge open living space and had a good look at the veranda he sat on the better part of the day. Spotless. With a frown, he continued to read the note.

 

_Which is why I am here. That brings me to second of all: I currently live here. That means, my sleeping bag resides in the first room on the left when you get upstairs. The main reason for that: It’s dry. The Calhoun’s have looked for a person who can do the repairs over spring so they can come back during the summer. And as I have a small break from my job as a policeman until I get referred to another unit, I signed up for it. I don’t know if I’ll manage though. The house is, as I have said before, a mess. And they want a pool house as well! Which, as you have mentioned, stands in the back of the house. (What?!)_

_This can mean two things: Either (and this is my preferred option) this is a huge joke (not funny, by the way) or you are from the future._ [“You got to be kidding me!” Rafael exclaimed again and pinched his arm. Yes, the sentence remained firmly where it was.]

_Please tell me which one._

_Best, Sonny_

 

Letting the note – letter was more like it now – drop to the floor, Rafael could only think of one thing. And as he was alone in the entire house (apparently – even though the letter suggested otherwise) he decided to say it out loud. It wasn’t as if it was the strangest thing that had happened that day. “God help the poor souls that that annoying brat will be assigned to.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Already lonely Rafael? Seriously, if that was the case, I’m sure you’ll remember where your previous conquests lived. Maybe you could visit the odd one here or there. Rumor has it that Trevor’s currently in the Hamptons …”

 

Rafael, standing (not proudly) in the first room on the left of the stairs, now a guestroom, rolled his eyes. “Hello to you too Rita.”

 

“How are you?” his friend wanted to know.

 

Rafael decided to rip the band aid off quickly, “Fearing for my sanity, if you must know.”

 

Rita sighed on the other end of the line, “Could you be any more cryptic?”

 

“I have a question”, Rafael started slowly and as nothing from the other end of the line came, he simply continued, “Did a storm in the winter of 2013 and 2014 demolish your house?”

 

“Uh … yes”, Rita confirmed taken aback. “Did you talk to any of the neighbors?”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Rafael cursed, “That cannot be true!”

 

As Rita wanted to know what had him take “the Lord’s name in vain” which was completely unacceptable for a “Catholic boy like him”, Rafael capitulated and told Rita the happenings of the previous days. At first, Rita told him maybe only half-joking that he should see a shrink. Then, Rafael asked, “Was the name of the guy … it was a guy right? Was it Sonny?”

 

He actually heard Rita gulp over the phone. “Yes. And yes, it was a guy. His real given name was something else though, but I can’t remember anymore. He insisted of being called Sonny by everybody.”

 

“See, I am not crazy!” Rafael exclaimed and felt like a five-year-old. “And he was annoying, wasn’t he?”

 

“I wouldn’t know”, Rita said, “He mostly left me notes in our mailbox. I was staying with Lee at the time.”

 

Yes, Lee. Rafael could vaguely remember. Tall, blue eyes, dirty blonde. And quite full of himself. One of the guys who could cope with Rita for about half a year. It was close to a record, which was probably why she was staying with him in the Hamptons for about a month. Back in 2014. Rafael groaned. “His handwriting was indecipherable, wasn’t it?”

 

“Not if you were a graphologist.”

 

“Holy shit, Rita!”

 

“You could say that”, his friend confirmed. After a little while of stunned silence, the lawyer added “That’s impossible!”

 

Rafael snorted, “You’re telling me!”

 

“Maybe it’s a joke …” Rita offered weakly.

 

“Yes, that’s what he thought my letters were as well.”

 

They were silent again for quite a few moments. Then, Rita ordered: “Get off the phone and send me a pic of his handwriting. Even after four years I’ll remember that atrocious scrawl.”

 

Rafael didn’t even say anything, only hung up the phone and activated the camera. He shot a quick picture of the last note and sent it to his friend. Her response was immediate: “Forget the psychologist. Call an exorcist.”

 

Rafael only shook his head. This really was the strangest thing that had happened to him. And considering the events of the past month that really meant something.

 

 

_Dear Sonny,_

_I cannot believe that I am writing that sentence – not even after my fourth scotch of the evening. Please note that I have torn the last few pieces of paper and delivered them into the waste, but I cannot phrase this any differently: I am from the future. Here, meaning in the same house but my time, it is 2018. I have checked with my friend Rita Calhoun, you worked here four years ago at exactly the same time. So apparently, there is a four year gap between us._

_And I fear that I am going crazy._

_This time gap would explain the spotless interior as well as the pool house that apparently you managed to build just fine. Good job. Even if it offers explanation to that, it leaves quite a few pressing questions open. More pressing questions, if you ask me. But I decided to accept the fact that you are in the past and I am in the present. My present. You future. This is insane!_

_Am I allowed a serious question?_

_If you are a policeman, why do you do repairs?_

_Confused greetings,_

_Rafael Barba_

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Rafael had a hard time finding sleep that night. How were things like that even possible?

He even had the vague idea that he was developing some sort of PTSD and called Rita again, only to check if their conversations from that afternoon had actually happened. Then, when he had turned around in his bed for about the tenth time, he thought about various tales he had either heard or read when he was smaller that included time travelling. It had always sounded so exciting but now, in reality, it frightened the shit out of him.

 

And why the mailbox? He tried to find a reasonable solution why it was that particular object that “managed” or “enabled” their communication but failed miserably. Then, he started to chuckle right into his fluffy pillow. There was no reasonable explanation for any of this, would never be. He thought that he simply had to accept the fact that the mailbox was some sort of weird black hole into the past. He briefly considered ripping the damnable thing from the ground and burn it, but he wasn’t sure if it would help. More than anything, it would make him look like a lunatic to the neighbors. And, as his second day in the Hamptons had proven, people here did not forget anything.

 

At around five in the morning, Rafael Barba had an epiphany.

The sun was already rising over the sea as he hurried down the stairs in his bathrobe. Well, Rita’s bathrobe, most likely, but that didn’t matter now. He quickly got out of the house and yanked the lid of the mailbox down. His letter was still in there. Perfect!

As he had closed the mailbox again, he walked on backwards into the house and placed a chair right next to the large window on the door’s right – where he had the perfect view of the mailbox. He would sit there and wait.

 

At half past six, Rafael cursed himself that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to actually set up a coffee pot but was stubborn enough no to abandon his post. What if he would miss what happened to his letter and the last one and a half hours had been for nothing. He was determined to stay.

 

After another good thirty minutes Rafael had almost dozed off. But suddenly, the red sign was pulled down by some magical force. The lawyer blinked but still nothing. He sprang up from his chair, ran outside and tore the lid of the mailbox down again. His letter was gone.

 

“I’ll be damned …” Rafael muttered.

 

 

After Rafael awoke with a start on the sofa in the living area of the house, still in Rita’s bathrobe and a nice crick in the neck, the sun was already high in the sky. Even though he wanted to run outside to the mailbox again immediately and check if there were any news, he went to the downstairs bathroom first. But then the mailbox called, so to speak, and as he hurried out already saw that the red sign was already pointing high in the sky. Tearing the lid open so fast that the metal screeched, he was faced with somebody else’s letter – Sonny’s letter.

 

_Dear Rafael,_

_I think I can agree with you on the fact that this is insane and crazy and fucked up (sorry!). But it’s also a little awesome, isn’t it?_ [Rafael rolled his eyes and almost tripped over the steps in front of the entryway in the process.] _So you say your time is 2018, mine is – although I think you know that – 2014. Four years! What has happened in the mean time? Tell me something!_

_You asked why I was doing repairs even though I am a policeman. Well, let me tell you something in advance: You asked for it._ [Rafael frowned]

 _Originally, I was considering becoming a priest._ [“Oh my dear God!” Rafael exclaimed] _You see, I come from a very catholic family in Staten Island_ [“And I bet you’re Italian as well.”] _and coming from an Italian background_ [“HA!”] _it was a normal thing to consider. Practically every generation in my family has at least one priest. And I always liked the church. I liked going to Sunday masses with my Ma and singing in the parish’s choir. So I really was considering it. But when I was fifteen I realized that I was gay._ [Rafael snorted, “Nice coming-out Sonny.”] _And the reverend in our parish always preached how all of these sinners were going to hell. For about two years I tried my best and prayed for God’s forgiveness and that He should change me. Predictably, nothing in that regard happened._ [Rafael chuckled] _What did happen though was me meeting Reverend Miller, who saved my life. By that time, I was getting really depressed and neither my parents nor my sisters (I have three) knew what the matter was. Of course, I was too afraid to tell them. Reverend Miller told me that, to keep a process of about a year short, no love could be a sin and that the Catholic Church surely did not know everything. Even though he thought it to be a good idea to pursue becoming a priest, I couldn’t. Sure, I could help other young people to come to terms with themselves – like Reverend Miller had done with me – but I could not imagine hiding for the rest of my life. So, I chose to follow my Pa’s footsteps and went to police academy._ [Rafael laughed sarcastically.]

_If you have experience with the police force – which you most likely haven’t – you are probably laughing right now._ [Rafael held his breath.] _Let’s just say I traded the pest for cholera. The years in the academy and even afterwards were excruciating. Sure, there were nice people. A lot of them. Then there were people who did not care. And then there were people who deemed it their utmost goal to make the lives of people like me miserable. And they succeeded. Sadly, it is mostly those memories that stick with me._

_My first job was a little better, but no matter which department you are traded to: There is always the macho-sexist-asshole that thinks non-heterosexual people are weak and abnormal – and should be treated as such. Well, nothing much has changed up to now, I’m afraid. Although I keep changing departments and units faster than I could prove these machos wrong._

_As of right now – my right now, not yours – I am between jobs once again, or rather, “in transfer” as my file reads. This means that I will soon be placed with another unit. Which one, I am as of yet unaware. So why am I repairing houses in the Hampton’s then?_ [“Right, that had been the question”, Rafael reminded himself.] _I have started to study law at Fordham University._ [“Jesus Christ and all the Saints, no! No! Fordham! … Of course he goes to Fordham!”] _Evening classes. Which are expensive. As my family does not have an abundance of money, I try to earn everything on my own. Which is why I am renovating houses in the Hamptons. It pays well and as I have always enjoyed manual work (also with my Pa and some uncles of mine) I don’t think this option is half bad._

_Jeez, I have just realized I haven’t introduced myself._ [“Jeez!” Rafael muttered sarcastically]

 _My name is Dominick Carisi Jr., but everybody calls me Sonny._ [“I bet they don’t. Or only under great physical pain.”] _I am 33 years old and from Staten Island. And, as I said, I have three sisters – Theresa, Gina and Bella, who is younger than me. I am rather tall but lanky, dirty blonde and have blue eyes. In my free time I like to read, cook and meet up with some friends._ [“And study law …” Rafael muttered.] _As for right now, I am single. … I seriously don’t know what else to write so if you want to know anything, just ask. :)_ [Rafael rolled his eyes at the smiley.]

_Now I get to ask a question:_

_What do you do for a living? Something admirable, I am certain, as you have the luxury of doing it from the Hamptons. You said that Rita Calhoun was a friend of yours … How did you meet?_

_Best, Sonny_

The only thing Rafael could think about as he put down the letter was how on earth that man managed to write that amount of words in just under two hours.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

_Dear Sonny,_

_thanks for your (long) letter. I can vaguely remember that this is how your start a letter although the last time I wrote one that was not work related is quite some time ago. So I could be wrong. What I want to thank you about was letting me forget about the looming insanity on my part for a bit. Your ramblings work wonders._

_I choose to start with how Rita and I have met._

_Well, it was at Harvard where we both studied law (the common concept of foreshadowing will tell you what I ~~am~~ ~~was~~ attempt to be doing). We kept seeing each other in certain classes and one day complained about the long line that kept us from our elixir of life (read: coffee). We kind of bonded over that I guess, though I would not now. Rita and me, we have this very special friendship where everybody around us thinks we hate each other’s guts. Between the two of us, we call it “fond teasing”, which admittedly sometimes is less fond. But we know that the other one does not mean any real harm, only phrases things in a sarcastic way. Aren’t people who share your humor worth gold?_

_This friendship of the two of us led to me spending some time of my summer breaks in the Hamptons with her. Her parents though always seemed happy to see me gone. Apparently, their daughter socializing with Bronx-scum wasn’t their idea of how Rita should spend her summers (read: she should have looked out for suitable husbands. I laugh at this, just so you know.) She kindly lets me stay even now – without us being immediate colleagues and without the right season – which is very generous of her._

_Then, there was the question of what I do. Jobwise._

_This is not even me not wanting to go into details right now, but I generally don’t know. I used to be an ADA in New York, but that’s in the past. Let’s just say a case blew up spectacularly in my face (my fault) and I am “between jobs” right now as well. I only wish my metaphorical file read “in transfer” as well, so I would have someplace to be transferred to. I genuinely have no idea what I am supposed to do now. The DA’s office is in my past and there’s no going back. The thing is: I love the law and I love my job. And I don’t want to get into defense right away (even though Rita would make me partner in her firm immediately, because how could she not?). So for the first time in my life I don’t have anything to work towards, and it’s killing me. Not that I would ever admit that to anyone in 2018, but seeing that you don’t – cannot possibly – know what I am talking about, you are a safe source of pouring my frustration into. (Hint: Do not become a lawyer because that’s what we do!)_

_You asked for some information about 2018 … Well, everything is the same of course. Except that we all fly around in our cars, dress in grey latex-jumpsuits, wear virtual reality glasses all the time and don’t physically talk to each other anymore. What would you like to know?_

_Kind regards,_

_Rafael Barba_

 

 

Putting everything on paper like that actually helped Rafael – and maybe there was a slight possibility that he might be thanking Sonny in his next later. Possibly. If there was one.

The thing was the he had realized two things while he had written his letter to the strange man in the past: He really did love the law and there was no way he would be living a life without any of it present. Secondly, he was good at it. Even the current disaster didn’t discourage him. His Mami has taught him better than that. So that afternoon, while he sat on the perfectly stable porch, he did some serious thinking. Firstly, he meant what he had written. There was no way he would go back to the DA’s office and continue from where he had left off. Secondly, he wouldn’t work in Rita’s practice, at least not right away. Not that she hadn’t proposed that to him – even though in passing. But he just couldn’t imagine going straight to defense law at the moment. So, Rafael asked himself while he looked passively at a few seagulls, what was left?

 

At first he thought about something very idealistic and sustained, like environmental law or the like. Public defense. Bringing people who could not afford high-end lawyers justice. After entertaining the thought for about three minutes he realized that he would be bored out of his mind by the end of the second week. So that was a definitely not.

Then he thought about how his Mami still fought for funds for the public school in the Bronx she still worked at, even though she could have retired years ago. “But who is going to do the job while I’m sitting comfortably at home, Rafi? These people don’t know how …” Well, he did. He could do something like that and fight for public funding. Then again, he knew almost first-hand how tiring that was. And how little success stood at the end of it. He sighed. Still, he would not abandon that idea completely.

 

Getting up and deciding to go on another embarrassing ride to the grocery store, Rafael put on a jacket and went out of the front door. Once he walked over to the bike still leaning against the wall, he heard a faint screeching sound. Once he turned around though, he didn’t see anything. Shaking his head, he turned back to the bike again, which was when he had heard the screeching again. And again, nothing to be seen. Suspicious, Rafael got onto his bike and was about to pedal down the driveway when he saw it: The red sign of the mail box was going up and down like crazy. Immediately, Rafael stopped.

 

Frowning, he got closer to the mail box, eying the sign that still went up and down critically. Currently, the sign was up but just as Rafael laid his hand on the lid to see if anything was inside, it went down again. Apparently, somebody was uncertain if he should be reading something or not, Rafael though amusedly. He held onto the lid and waited. Predictably, the sign went up again and just as it did, the Cuban yanked the mailbox open and pulled the sheet of paper out. He chuckled. Most of all because he could almost hear the certainly ensuing Italian swearing.

 

 

 _Dear Mr. Barba,_ [“Dear God, going all formal on me now …”]

 _I am ashamed to say that I didn’t recognize you name right away._ [“What an affront!” Rafael exclaimed mock-seriously next to his mailbox] _I mean, I knew that it sounded familiar, but I filed it away under “it just sounds similar to someone I know”. And then you wrote about your job as an ADA and suddenly the files I have read for night class came to mind. And quite powerfully. Most of all the case against Cain._ [Rafael chuckled, “Apparently, it really left quite the impact.”] _Let me tell you, what you did is probably the bravest thing I have ever heard (or read) about. To let a rapist with anger issues strangle you in open court only to give justice to the victim is admirable._

 _If I ever pursue a career as a lawyer, I hope that I can get close to what you did that day._ [“Wait! He isn’t even serious about becoming a lawyer?!”]

_Oh, I have so many questions right now … Like, a different perspective on case files I am working with at the moment. Okay, not at the moment because I am writing this_ [Rafael rolled his eyes] _… but for class. Would you be so kind and share your opinion on one or the other with me?_

 _I’m sure this is very tiring via mail but I would be so grateful. You truly are an inspiration._ [Rafael chuckled sarcastically, but couldn’t help the small smile playing on his lips.] _This makes me even more curious about what could have you part with the DA’s office. As you did not give me any hints, I assume that you do not want to talk about it._ [“Damn right …”] _But I am certain that you acted in good conscience – whatever it was. You certainly did what you thought to be the right thing. I just hope you’ll feel better about it soon. And you’ll figure out what to do next. Jeez, I still can’t believe that I am writing to Rafael BARBA …_ [Rafael rolled his eyes again]

_I am assuming that your last paragraph was a joke, by the way. If not, tell me.  
_

 

_Kind regards,_

_Sonny Carisi_

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

_Dear Mr. Carisi,_

_I was very glad to notice that you were familiar with my work. It has demonstrated most impressively that the last years that I have spent entirely dedicated to my work have proven as well invested. Furthermore, I couldn’t help but notice the formality of your tone. Might I suggest something extremely drastic? Stop that crap immediately!_

_Thank you. This Mr. Barba-thing had my skin crawl._

_I could not help to notice one thing:_

_Did you really write – and I could hand your last letter in as ‘Exhibit A’ – that you are not sure if you want to pursue law as a career? Why, if you allow me the question, do you put yourself through the extremely tiring process of studying for the bar – next to your job as a policeman – if you are not even certain if that’s the in the career plan for you? Colour me intrigued …_

_As the previous letter I have written to you has helped me (to a certain degree) in my figuring out where to venture next – jobwise – I might owe you a thank you. At least partly. Which is why I would give the exchange of opinion on your cases a go. I just can’t figure out how this is going to work. I believe waiting four years with you bar exam and just drive by the Calhoun’s house in 2018 is not an option, is it?_

_And I have to compliment skills for detecting my sarcasm at the end of my last letter. Well done. Give yourself a Kewpie Doll, Officer.  
_

_Open to suggestions about the unusual shadowing._

_Best, Rafael_

After Rafael had “posted” the letter he made his way down to the grocery store (which he didn’t manage the day before due to Sonny’s very formal letter). On the bicycle. He really should get a rental car. This was beyond humiliating.

 

Despite the embarrassment of actually having to mount a bike, he realized that the exercise did wonders to his body. The one that he had neglected first due to his endless hours at work and secondly due to the aftermath of his very personal fiasco. So he vowed to attempt a slight jog the next morning (as he wouldn’t go as far as suggesting that he would be able to rise to the challenge). Even though he briefly thought about going for the run on the beach while he was putting away some vegetables that he fully intended to cook into a very healthy meal, he decided against it. The sand would be much more tiring than the tarmac. So despite the potentially prying eyes that would most likely follow him out on the streets, he would be doing just that.

 

About ten seconds later, Rafael groaned. Of course, he didn’t have any workout clothes, much lesser according trainers. Cursing under his breath, he consulted his phone about the location of the next store only to find out that he would have to get onto that ungodly bicycle again. He rolled his eyes, but did so anyway. About two hours later he paddled into up the impressive driveway again, completely out of breath and sweating, but with a two new set of sweatpants, an according jacket and comfortable trainers. The shirts he had for himself. He just needed to figure out how to use the washing machine – another painful task. Why on earth had he agreed to consult with Sonny on his homework again?

 

Back inside, he first made himself some coffee and then called his Mami – a more brilliant idea on his part. Surely, she was out of her mind with concern for him but was aware how he would react to her calling him. In a situation like that.

 

His mother picked up her cell after the second ring. Rafael grinned. “Holà Mami!”

 

“Rafael! Mi hijo! Qué onda contigo?”

 

Rafael’s grin grew into a real smile, “I’m good Mami, thank you. How are you?”

 

His mother tsked, “This is not about me right now, mi amor. Tell me, how are you … _really_?”

 

Rafael sighed, “Better. I really am and I’m not saying this to make you feel better. Hey, I even just went out – on a bicycle and bought some sweatpants.”

 

“What on earth do you need sweatpants for? And why did that connect _you_ with a bicycle? Is there a man involved, Rafael?”

 

The addressed one rolled his eyes, “Why do you assume that whenever I attempt something sportive that I do that to impress a guy?”

 

“Because that’s usually the explanation.”

 

“That’s not true!”

 

“Scuba diving?”

 

Rafael rolled his eyes, “You can’t really blame me for going scuba diving when I’m sailing around on a yacht, Mami. There really wasn’t much else to do.”

 

His mother let out an honest to God snort, “What about the guy who owned the yacht? What was his name again? Trevor?”

 

“Mami, you are terrible!” Rafael exclaimed but couldn’t deny that he would rather have ogled Trevor than the fish.

 

“Your two-week career as a tennis player?” his mother continued and Rafael groaned but countered “It was an exercise.”

 

“Certainly. Skiing in Gstaad?”

 

Rafael surrendered, “That was Wolfgang.”

 

“Right. He was a nice one. The other one was not so nice … What was his name again?”

 

Rafael was mortified at how accurately his mother remembered all of his not-quite conquests. “Who?”

 

“The one who took you golfing and you managed to sprain your ankle?”

 

“Mother!” Rafael scolded while he was starting to sport quite the blush. She really made it sound like he was only … well, moving when there was sex involved … somewhere. Not particularly on the driving range.

 

“Well?” she asked.

 

“Daniel”, Rafael almost whispered. His mother however, seemed very pleased, “Yes, Daniel! I didn’t like him one bit. He was much too … _escurridizo_ for you.”

 

“And here I was thinking you wanted me to go for sophisticated and potentially career-advancing.” Although, as Rafael thought about it, he really didn’t know anymore why he had ended up with Daniel. He really had been a pompous asshole.

 

“Rafael, there is a difference between career-advancing and being an utter dickhead.”

 

Rafael burst out laughing at that one. “Mother! If you kissed me with that mouth no wonder I turned out the way I have.”

 

“Not so bad, if I say so myself. Still you shouldn’t be lying to your mother: Who is he?”

 

“He? He who?”

 

Rafael could see the eye roll that usually went with the sigh he was able to hear: “He who made you buy sweatpants.”

 

The lawyer briefly regretted that there really wasn’t anybody whom he could refer to as _He, who made you buy sweatpants._ It would have been hilarious. He wondered if it had been Sonny who made him think about exercising more, but abandoned the thought. It really hadn’t been the policeman, not-yet lawyer who had made him think about going jogging. Or had he?

Still, as he didn’t want his Mami to think that he was going insane, he decided it was best not to say anything about his current connection to the past. “Mami, there really isn’t anybody. I just thought it would be good for me to exercise a bit.”

 

“Hmmm.” His mother clearly wasn’t convinced. Probably because he had always been a shitty liar. “It’s a shame, you really should have somebody in your life Rafi.”

 

That one again. He sighed. “I know. And if the right one came around, I wouldn’t object to it. But us Barbas, we manage quite well on our own, don’t we?”

 

“We do. Still, you have to do something other than sit around and wait for somebody to just … show up. Most of all because you scare everyone away with your _sunny_ personality.”

 

Rafael winced – and not only because he immediately thought about the man he currently only wrote letters to. Why on earth did he have to call himself Sonny anyway? Who did that? The Italian mob? “Well, if they aspire to be my Mister Right, they better be able to cope with that.”

 

“Whatever you say. It was nice of you to call.” Rafael grinned, “Don’t make it another two weeks before that next one.” His grin turned into an eye roll.

 

“I won’t. Take care Mami.”

 

“And don’t forget to eat …”

 

“Love you, bye.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

As much as Rafael hated to admit it, but his mother was right. Not in general but in regard of his fitness. After he had left the house the next morning at around eight and jogged the driveway down onto the street, he had been in such a good mood. He had enjoyed the still rather crisp morning air, the light breeze and the feel of his new trainers. Once he started to jog down the street to his left – as he knew the route down to the grocery store already by heart – he had felt good. Fit. Finally taking charge after months of letting oneself go.

 

Now though, about half an hour later, he practically crawled up the driveway on all fours again. Not literally – he had some dignity eft after all, even though sweat poured out of every inch of skin and he was sure he resembled the general colour of a traffic light reading “stop”. He was out of breath as badly as could be and every muscle in his legs ached. Even today. Rafael dreaded the thought of the next day in the morning.

 

What kept him from collapsing immediately though was the red sign of his mailbox that he saw despite all the sweat pouring into his eyes. He pulled himself together and removed the letter from the box. Once inside the house he firstly drank about a liter of bottled water before he collapsed on the sofa in the living area for a good fifteen minutes. Only then he felt coherent enough again to face Sonny’s scrawl.

 

_Dear Rafael,_

_I am sorry for the overly formal last letter but … I didn’t know how to react. I mean, you’re Rafael Barba!_ [“No shit, Sherlock!” Rafael chuckled still a little breathlessly.] _We discuss all your cases in night school, I even held a speech on the Cain case in front of my class. And then I find out that the weird guy in the future is … you. (Not that you are weird, the future-thing is weird.)_ [Rafael chuckled.]

_What I can bring up in my defense is that I wasn’t even sure if I should “post” the letter. I took it out again, then I put it into the mailbox a second time, then I removed it again … You get the idea. And suddenly it was gone._ [Rafael thought about the red sign going up and down with a grin.] _So if I had had time to think the whole thing over again, I might have written something different._ [“Highly doubtful”, Rafael muttered.] _Anyway, thank you for not being put off by my rambling. A lot of people are._

_And thank you for considering helping me with my homework and discuss some case files. I have thought about it and I came up with an idea:_

_What about we both sit out by the mailbox this (Wednesday) afternoon at four and exchange notes? Maybe it won’t work but I thought if passing of letters works, we could try and pass notes as well. What do you say? :)_

_FYI: I already am a Detective. Homicide. Well, post-Homicide now._

_Best, Sonny_

 

Rafael frowned. That actually wasn’t a bad idea. Having a quick look at his watch, he realized that he still had time to, first, shower, then cook himself a little something, then have his power nap and even get some reading done before he would pass notes – and Jesus Christ, that sounded like he was back in high school – with a certain Detective Sonny Carisi.

 

 

At five to four, Rafael sat next to the mailbox in front of Rita’s house and felt more than stupid. He even carried one of the chairs from the veranda out onto the driveway. In his lap lay a notepad and two pens (if one would capitulate, mind him) and he even brought his phone if he would need to google something. This really was beyond stupid. Exchanging legal advice via a mailbox. If Rita could see him now she would check him into a hospital.

 

Suddenly, the sign of the mailbox went up which had Rafael’s head whip around. Carefully, he opened the lid only to see a post-it note. It read _Hey Rafael. Are you there?!_ The lawyer grinned and took his own notepad. High-end with actual sheets to rip off, mind him.

_Certainly… Hello Sonny._ Rafael ripped the paper off and put it in the mailbox before he pulled the sign up. Only a second later, it went down and, after having a quick look, Rafael realized that his note was gone. He smiled and closed the mailbox.

 

Just a second later, the red sign got up again: _Hi. :)_

 

Rafael rolled his eyes fondly and shook his head. _I can’t believe this is actually working. So, anything I should look over? Or would you rather have me decipher your atrocious scrawl on simple post-it notes?_

_Har Har._

Rafael rolled his eyes at the way Sonny had clearly made it his utmost priority to write the note in the most readable way he could.

 

_So?_

 

As the red sign flew up again and Rafael opened the mailbox, he wished he hadn’t asked. Stuffed into the poor thing were at least five case files, all with post-its and sticky notes pointing out at weird angles. The Cuban sighed. _I marked the places I wanted to discuss with you. And put my notes next to the file (and on post-its when the space ran out). Thank you for doing this!!!_

_You do realize that I need way more time to read through this than your patience will doubtlessly allow?_

_Take your time. … And no assumptions about my patience, Counsellor! :)_

“Dear God in Heaven, have mercy on me”, Rafael muttered before he started reading.

 

 

After about three hours, Rafael had read through the first file. He was familiar with the case – even though unlike the Cain case, he had not been directly involved, which would have been a blessing – but Sonny’s notes were something else. He had needed about four cups of really strong coffee to process what he was reading. Not because it was bad. It really wasn’t. And not entirely because of the scrawl. But that man certainly needed to structure his thoughts. Otherwise he would end up in a courtroom, the Judge as well as the Jury looking at him as if he had three heads. Rafael had taken his time, commenting on Sonny’s comments and propose different approaches to some of his arguments. Then, he went out and pushed the first file into the metallic box. As soon as he had pulled the sign up, it was yanked down again and the file was gone. Flabbergasted, Rafael hurried into the living area to get his notepad.

_I refuse to believe that you waited next to the mailbox for my reply …_

_As I have said, no wrongly-applied assumptions about my patience Counsellor. :)_

“That man is insane!” Rafael muttered as he walked towards the house and slammed the door shut. He had case files and Carisi-notes to read after all.

 

 

As much as Rafael hated to admit it, but he really enjoyed “passing notes” with Sonny via the mailbox. He enjoyed even more that the other man wasn’t the least bit intimidated by his quite often snarky and borderline-rude remarks.

 

For example Sonny’s first closing argument. He had made quite a strong case but Rafael could point out at least three times the Jury could misinterpret what he actually meant. On top of the argument sat a post-it reading _Am I right, Counsellor?!_

Even though Rafael had returned the argument with at least double as much corrections to Sonny’s notes and a _Like a broken clock_ on top of it, the other man had simply put a smiley face in the mailbox. On a post-it. Because why would that man ever write on something different?

 

The sometimes truly outrageous elaborations on chains of evidence were countered from Rafael’s side with a _Save it for night school_ or _Booyah Fordam Law!_ At one point, Sonny even elaborated (way too strongly) on the mental state of a suspect. Rafael’s _Thank you Dr. Carisi. Thinking of taking up medicine after you pass the Bar?_ was replied to with a _No, but I might give psychology a try._ Rafael did not laugh at this. Absolutely not.

If he made fun of Sonny’s way of putting things, like putting his own post-it onto a (way better) closing argument that read _Obfuscate? Yummy._ Sonny simply replied with a, _I aim to please_ and a smiley face. If the overeager puppy stuck post-it after post-it into the mailbox and had Rafael go crazy because “Why on earth isn’t that man capable of putting everything on a sheet of paper together? Comprehensively?” the Cuban’s _Shush_ was respected. For about a minute before further post-its followed.

One time Sonny had put a file in the mailbox right at the time when Rafael had paddled (on the bike, mind him) into the driveway. He had simply put an _Are you Batman?_ into the mailbox. The _Huh?_ that followed might have been predictable.

The first time Rafael stuck a post-it onto a file Carisi posted for him that read _It pains me to say this. But you’re right Sonny._ there was a shitload of smileys that followed. Together with an _All thanks to your help, Counsellor._ Rafael had smiled.

 

Over his bickering with Sonny via the uncanny mailbox Rafael completely lost track of time. Once he had a conscious look at the date, he realized that over a week had passed. Further testament to that was a comment from the Calhoun’s next-door neighbor if Rafael wanted to borrow their lawn mower. As the Cuban had frowned and received an “I just thought yours was broken” in return, he had a look at the grass in the driveway. He did take up on _subtle hints_ when there were any after all.

 

As Rafael had wrestled the according _instrument_ out of the garden shed he realized that of course, it wasn’t working. Cursing, Rafael produced the instruction manual out of thin air (it was in the garden shed) and tried his utmost to decipher what the authors of that monstrosity meant while explaining how to start that thing. Completely engrossed in his task – one he had never thought he would have to face – he did not hear the sound of designer shoes hitting the gravel behind him. Only when he heard the rich voice amusedly stating “Rafael Barba. Still the technology wiz I see …” the Cuban turned around.

 

“Trevor.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

“Trevor.”

 

Rafael might or might not have gaped like a fish. In front of him stood one Trevor Langan, somebody he hadn’t seen _privately_ in at least three years. Of course, there had been Liv’s trails when the whole Noah-thing had been going on and his biological grandmother had tried to first take custody and then the boy himself. But even if Rafael had managed to be there for one of the trials, he hadn’t paid Trevor any mind.

 

The way his ex-lover stood there before him now, in a washed out pair of jeans and an old and comfortable looking burgundy sweater, Rafael noticed his mistake. Trevor looked gorgeous.

 

“Rafael”, the taller man grinned and crocked his head. “Rita has told me that you’re here.”

 

The Cuban rolled his eyes, “Of course she has.”

 

A pointed look at the lawn mower followed, “She was under the impression that you might need help … of some sort. That’s why she called me.”

 

Rafael sighed exasperated. “Not that I do not enjoy the surprise visit, but I can manage quite well on my own.”

 

“Clearly. Have you checked if there is enough fuel in the thing?”

 

Rafael fought the urge to slap his own forehead. He did have some dignity left after all.

 

After Trevor had not only brought the lawn mower to life but had tended to the task of braving the unruly grass himself, Rafael felt obliged to invite him in. His mother would chase after him if he hadn’t. They first had some coffee out on the veranda which they later traded for some of Rafael’s (Rita’s) scotch. The Cuban was pleasantly surprised how easy talking to Trevor was. Despite their failed relationship, nothing was awkward between them. Which was why, after Trevor had inquired about Noah and then asked why Rafael was truly out here, he told him. For the first time he told the whole story to somebody else than his mother. Rita, of course, had heard everything through the grapevine and had insisted that she didn’t want to hear another word of it. After she had put him in the shower.

 

The sympathy that showed on Trevor’s face encouraged Rafael to say something that he hadn’t said out loud – the letters to the past did not count – yet: “And now, for the first time in my life, I don’t know where to go.” He looked up at the man sitting beside him, smiling sadly: “I literally have no idea where to go from here, Trevor.”

 

A pleasantly warm, large hand laid down on his own. “You’ll manage Rafael. I know this is what everybody tells you, so I’m going to be a bit more specific.”

 

The addressed one grinned, “You know me too well.”

 

“I was tempted to think so at one point in time.” Rafael wanted to reply something – anything – to that but Trevor squeezed his hand: “It might take some time, but you’ll figure it out. Because there is nobody else I know who is as strong as you Rafael. No matter what life has thrown in your way, you always found a way to deal with it. And it will be the same this time.” A beautiful grin spread on the other lawyer’s lips, “Take you time. Relax here. And if by the time you go back to New York are not sure what to do, it’s fine. You deserve to have a little bit of time off and figure out all your options. And in the meantime, you can have dinner with me.”

 

Rafael laughed out loudly at that and Trevor grinned. “So that was your plan all along, huh?”

 

“Why do you think I cut these tons of grass?” Trevor joked and Rafael held up his glass of scotch. “To ulterior motives.” Trevor gave him his most blinding grin. “Is that a yes?”

 

“That is a yes.”

 

As they clinked glasses, Rafael’s belly did a funny flip.

 

 

They agreed to meet the next day at Trevor’s – Rafael was pleased and a little alarmed that he still found his way there – because of course, Trevor wanted to cook for Rafael. He had always done that. And not just a normal dish but something truly spectacular. If he made fish, he couldn’t simply put the fish on the plate; he would mash it and transform it into a mousse, which he arranged in a beautiful tower on the plate. With decorations next to it, obviously. Before, Rafael had always thought it had been ridiculous. Now though, he was truly impressed. And posh food like that fitted really well into Trevor’s house, or rather mansion, where they ate a full five course menu on the glass covered veranda that, of course, was built right where the sun was setting. If Rafael had seen that in a movie, he would have snorted.

 

Conversation had yet again flown easily between them and after they had successfully covered Trevor’s job (the law firm of his father was now his) and had established that both men were single at the present time, it was time to do the washing up. Rafael offered to help, but Trevor insisted to do it on his own. Rafael’s joke of how his dear mother would have a heart attack if he just skipped dish duty, Trevor raised an eyebrow: “And mine would get a hysterical fit if she knew that I actually did the dishes myself. Which is way more fun, so humor me.”

 

Rafael chuckled and retreated with is glass of white wine to the windows and looked at the sea. It really was beautiful out here and he couldn’t believe that it had taken him so long to come back. Work really had been a bitch.

 

As careful arms sneaked around his waist, Rafael gladly relaxed into the firm body behind him. It felt all too natural to just turn around and kiss Trevor. Slightly shocked, the taller man needed a few moments to respond, but when he did it set a swarm of butterflies free in Rafael’s stomach. Once they broke their first-but-not-first kiss, Trevor whispered: “You think this is wise?”

 

Already a little out of breath, Rafael smirked, “No. But any objections to this Counsellor?”

 

Trevor bit his earlobe, “None.”

 

As both men had sex with each other, Rafael marveled at how well they still knew each other’s bodies. Even though it had been over three years since they broke up, each man knew exactly which buttons to press to make the other one moan out in delight. Rafael had almost forgotten how Trevor managed to practice the art of placing firm yet loving and careful thrusts against his prostate that made him cry out in delight. Even though it had been quite some time since he last had sex, the Cuban managed to last a quite impressive amount of time. Also, thanks to Trevor. He knew exactly when Rafael was close which was when he would slow his thrusts and lean down so he could whisper “Not yet, I wanna make this last” into Rafael’s ear. Only when he started to beg Trevor to let him come – which was when he was certain that his balls could not take another _not yet_ – Trevor dove into him and aimed perfectly. Rafael came over his belly and chest; a few streaks even landing on Trevor, who stilled with his own climax on top of Rafael.

 

As they lay panting next to each other – the condom safely tied and transported to the waste basket that conveniently stood next to the king sized bed (Rafael strongly suspected Trevor had planned this) – and both had caught their breath, Rafael sighed: “Wow.”

 

“I second that”, Trevor chuckled and stroke over the Cuban’s belly with his left hand. Rafael hummed and relished in the fact that Trevor didn’t seem to mind one bit that he had quite a few pounds more on his ribs than when they had last done this. Trevor, of course, still looked like a marble statue, currently dusted with a sheen of sweat. Not that Rafael was complaining.

 

“Tell me again why we broke up?” Rafael joked, “For the life of me I can’t fathom why …”

 

Suddenly, the hand on his belly stilled and Trevor lifted his torso up. He looked down at Rafael, who feared that he had said something utterly stupid.

 

“Are you serious? … You really don’t remember?” Trevor asked after some time and Rafael blushed but shook his head.

 

Trevor chuckled, although bitterly and flopped back onto the fluffy cushions. “You kissed somebody else, Rafael.”

 

“What?!” he exclaimed. Suddenly it was him sitting up. “No I didn’t.”

 

The way Trevor looked over to him, he knew that he was wrong. “Yes, you did. I think it’s a good thing you don’t remember because apparently it truly had meant nothing, but …”

 

“When…?” Rafael asked flabbergasted.

 

“The party at Lee’s, remember? It was spring and Rita had invited us because Lee was celebrating … something.”

 

Rafael nodded. He remembered. The party had been a drag. “Yes.”

 

“And suddenly you were nowhere to be seen …” Trevor continued, “When I found you out on the beach, you were making out with that other guy.”

 

Rafael could vaguely remember. He had been drunk. Somebody had chatted him up and he had thought them to be oddly funny. Somehow. Yet again, because the party had been a drag, he had followed the guy to the beach where they had talked. Then, there had been some Sinatra playing in the house and because the guy was Italian, he wanted to dance. At first, Rafael had firmly resisted, but then, he had given in and before he knew it, the two of them had been kissing. He clamped a hand over his mouth.

 

“You remember now?” Trevor asked just the tiniest bit on edge.

 

“Yes”, Rafael repeated himself. Suddenly it all came back to him. The way the guy had smiled, how his beautiful blue eyes had sparkled, how good the hand on his back had felt. How ridiculously chivalrous it had remained above waist. How Rafael had been falling head over heels. Not that he would tell Trevor that. Ever.

 

“But … they guy had a moustache!” was the only thing Rafael could think of at the moment, at which Trevor raised an eyebrow: “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

 

The Cuban rolled his eyes, “No, it should convince you that I would never have attempted the kiss if I had been sober. I mean come on … I don’t even remember the name of the guy.”

 

Trevor scrunched up his nose, “Neither do I. It was something stupid.”

 

“Of course it was …” Rafael remarked sarcastically, trying to gain some ground in this argument that wasn’t really an argument.

 

Trevor chuckled, “No seriously. I mean, obviously, after four years I’m not jealous anymore …”

 

“As you shouldn’t be. I mean …” Rafael gestured vaguely to the already drying spurts of semen on his chest.

 

“Yeah”, Trevor smiled, “But I’m serious. It was something childish …”

 

Rafael leaned over and kissed Trevor lovingly on the lips. Apparently, he had wounded the other man deeply without even realizing that he had. “It doesn’t matter …”

 

“It was some kind of nickname …”

 

Another kiss, this time to Trevor’s neck, after which he murmured “It really, really doesn’t matter Trevor.”

 

“I remember that he was working for Rita’s parents. That’s why she had invited him. Something with their house …”

 

Rafael sat up so quickly that his neck made a funny popping sound: “WHAT?!”

 

Trevor looked as shocked as Rafael felt. Still, he elaborated: “Uh yes … Right. That was the year of the storm, remember? It had trashed the Calhoun’s house. And he was repairing it. Something with an S …”

 

“Sonny.”

 

Rafael didn’t even realize that he had said that out loud.

 

Trevor did a double take. Understandably so. “Yeah … I think that was it … Rafael?”

 

The addressed one didn’t even realize that Trevor had just talked to him. He jumped into his trousers that lay discarded on the floor, grabbed the sweater lying next to it and on his way out wriggled his feet into his loafers. He dashed down the stairs and out of the house. If the Cuban would have been able to think a conscious thought at that moment, he would have realized that his jogging was already paying off. But he didn’t. He simply ran all the way from Trevor’s house to Rita’s, in the middle of the night. Once he managed to get the key into the lock on the front door and the same opened, he hurried over to where the current case file lay. He grabbed the notepad, jutted two lines down and stormed out again. Rafael yanked the lid of the mailbox down with so much force that it was a miracle it didn’t break. He stuffed the note in and slammed the lid closed again raising the sign. Completely out of breath he waited for maybe ten minutes – why he kept standing there, he didn’t know – before the sign was pulled down and his note was gone. It had read:

 

_You FUCKING COWARD!_

_And that moustache was horrible!!!_

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Needless to say, Rafael couldn’t sleep. It was all too bizarre to be true anyway.

Only when he realized that his chest was itching – he realized why while cringing almost comically – he ventured inside and went into the shower. While undressing, he realized that he had taken Trevor’s sweater instead of his.

 

Trevor. The exit he had made after the other man had worked so hard to let him have a nice evening. Rafael slapped his forehead. “You are such an idiot!” he scolded himself in Rita’s bathroom. Apologies were due. He didn’t know what was appropriate in a situation such as this one, but he was thinking about life-long slavery or something alike. The other man would be furious – and had every right to be.

 

Once out of the shower and in his pajamas, Rafael couldn’t help but get into the library and glimpse out the window onto the mailbox. The sign was up.

 

Cursing, Rafael hurried down the stairs, grabbing his notepad along the way. He would give that man a piece of his mind.

 

Pulling out a post-it note, Rafael laughed sarcastically.

_You didn’t think that my moustache was horrible that night._

_I was drunk._

_Really? I had no idea …_

_Don’t you change the subject! Why didn’t you say anything?!_

_And what should I have said? Hello Rafael, I am that guy you are going to write letters to in four years’ time? Although I’ll still be here and you’ll be in 2018?_

_It would have been a start …_

_And you would have thought that I was crazy!_

_I think you are crazy now!_

_Har Har._

_… I would have liked to know, Sonny._

_I would have liked you to know too. The kiss was amazing._

[Rafael smiled] _I suspect it was but to my eternal shame I can’t properly remember … Damn it Sonny!_

_What can you remember?_

_That your moustache was horrible._

_:) What else?_

_That your eyes were blue. That they sparkled. That there was Sinatra playing and you asked me to dance. That your hand stayed right at my waist. That you smiled. That you smelled good._

_That I smelled good, eh?_

_Yes. It is a trait that’s gets way too little credit._

_Thanks, I guess._

_You’re welcome._

_Rafael, I want to do that again …_

_Smell good?_

_:) That and to meet you. Dance with you. Kiss you._

[Rafael bit his lip] _I’d like that too._

_Then let’s meet. Again. Tomorrow, your time._

_But … it’s four years Sonny._

_I’ll wait. :)_

_… FOUR YEARS!!!_

_Not for you. For you, it’ll be just tomorrow._

_This is insane. (And unfair to you)_

_I thought that we had accepted the “insane” part. (I don’t care)_

_It really was one hell of a kiss, huh?_

_Rafael, you have no idea …_

_Jesus Christ, are we really doing this?_

_Yes, we are. Tomorrow, I’ll come by the Calhoun’s house. I’ll bring a bottle of wine and desert. You cook something, I don’t really care what. And then we’ll talk. Properly. Sounds like a plan?_

_Sounds like a plan!_

_Awesome! Sleep tight and I’ll see you tomorrow._

_You too. … Sonny?_

_Yes?_

_Can you please shave?_

_;)_

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

‘You took my sweater instead of yours, Rafael. … And you left your boxer briefs here.’

 

Rafael cursed once the text showed up on his phone the next day around noon. He should have changed his number. Years ago. Maybe after every break-up, a change of number was due. Still, he had to text back: ‘I’m so sorry Trevor. For everything! I truly am. Can I explain? Tomorrow?’

 

‘I’ll hold you to that. That sweater is pure cashmere, just so you know …’ Rafael smiled. Good, that was good. He could talk to Sonny this evening and then explain everything to Trevor. How, he didn’t know. It depended on how that evening tonight went. That evening that he was absolutely not freaking out about. Because why would he? There was only … a guy waiting four years for him because they had exchanged snarky notes via a mailbox and an apparently awesome kiss. Sweat was building on Rafael’s forehead and he did not like it.

 

And, on top of it all, he was expected to cook.

Now, despite popular belief that he was absolutely useless in the kitchen – New York’s finest had deduced that wrongly from his habit of snacking constantly – he actually wasn’t. He had been growing up with his Mami and his abuelita who were very keen on him learning how to look after himself. Which obviously included food. They were Cuban after all. So even though he certainly wasn’t a three star chef, he knew how to handle a wooden spoon or a spatula.

 

But what on earth should he be cooking?

At first he had thought about making something Italian. Because Sonny was Italian. Then again, he had immediately buried the idea again. He certainly couldn’t compete with food he was used to … or made personally. So after ruling out something completely unspectacular like producing a burger or whatnot, he settled on his own favorite dish: lechon con moros y maduros.

Which meant that he had to get to the grocery store again and keep his fingers crossed that they had everything he needed (he suspected that he had to compromise on something though). Which meant that he had to get onto his bike again. Which meant the he would return sweaty. Which meant he needed to have another shower on top of fixing dinner.

 

It was a nerve-wrecking day for Rafael Barba.

 

 

Once the clock had passed six o’clock he realized that during their nightly conversation, they hadn’t settled on an exact time. Which was somewhat problematic considering that the food should be properly cooked at some point of the evening. Ventured outside and placed a sheet of paper into the mailbox that read _Dinner will be ready at eight_. Sonny did have four years to plan this after all.

 

He however only had about an hour left, considering that if the detective had some sort of manners, he wouldn’t arrive at eight on the dot. So he hurried, squeezed in another quick shower – he didn’t want to small just like their dinner after all – and then changed into a nicely fitting pair of jeans and an emerald shirt. He had been told previously that it brought out his eyes. Hurrying down to check on the food after he had arranged his hair into something he considered vaguely presentable, he realized that it was already twenty past seven. Rafael took a deep breath. If his stomach kept making flip flops like that, he wouldn’t anything tonight.

 

Pouring himself a glass of liquid courage – top-shelf scotch, obviously – he sat down into the living space of the house and tried not to fidget too much. What on earth was he thinking, meeting a stranger like that? After all, the whole thing was ridiculous …

‘But Sonny waited four years for you …’ the nagging voice in his brain told him. It certainly was the most romantic thing somebody had ever done for him. He took a deep breath. 7:30 p.m. They would talk and see where this was going. If they clicked in person just like they had over their exchanged notes. Somehow though, Rafael was convinced they would.

 

7:45 p.m. Well, after having fretted over how on earth he should greet the detective arriving – Handshake? Wave? Hug? Kiss? Either option seemed stupid to him – he had a solution. Tease him for his bad manners of arriving right before dinner. It would establish familiar ground between them as well as lighten the mood. Because Rafael was tense. If that damnable guy from Staten Island didn’t arrive soon, he would have to change his shirt again. Christ, why was it so hot in here?

 

8:00 p.m. It had to be the traffic. Rafael realized that is was Friday which was the day that everything went bat-shit crazy in New York. Everybody wanted to get home or out of the city for the weekend. It didn’t matter, the lawyer told himself while he reduced the heat on basically everything in the kitchen. He would come. Otherwise he was certain that there would have been a note in the mailbox telling him that there had been a change of plans. Sonny was like that.

 

A second later Rafael cursed himself. He did not _know_ if Sonny was like that. He had never met the guy, for Christ’s sake. He could be a serial killer for all he knew. ‘But he isn’t …’ that stupid inner voice of his told him. Rafael casually passed the he windows in the foyer to see if the red sign of the mailbox was sticking up.

It didn’t.

 

At 8:30 p.m. Rafael took the three pots and one pan from the stove. No need to burn a perfectly good but by then maybe a little overcooked meal because a date didn’t show up.

 

At 9:00 p.m. Rafael was on his third scotch. Probably not wise if Sonny did actually happen to show up and tell him a story about a terrible accident on the way or something, but he couldn’t help himself. He had been a bundle of nerves all day and for what? To hover above pans and pots? Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and in consequence messed everything up.

 

At 9:30 p.m. Rafael started to pack everything into the ridiculously fitting Tupperware containers he had found in Rita’s kitchen. There was no point waiting anymore. He had tried a little bit of meat and found that even though it was his favorite dish, he couldn’t stomach any of it. He blamed it on the three glasses of scotch on an empty stomach, but knew deep down that this really wasn’t the reason.

 

As 10.00 p.m. rolled around, Rafael cursed himself for still lingering in the general area of the foyer, his fourth scotch in hand, waiting for some movement in his driveway. Regarding the fourth scotch, he probably shouldn’t open the door anyway, regardless if that Fordham-person still showed. The Cuban sighed and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. He should air the room – it still smelled like his favorite dish which did not help the situation at all – and go to bed.

 

At 11:00 p.m. Rafael Barba flew rather than walked outside to the mailbox. The six scotches did help in that regard. He didn’t even want to know how crooked the note in his hands looked. And he did not care. If he couldn’t deal with one single thing, it was unreliable people. He stuffed the note into the mailbox – after the third try he even managed to get the thing open – turned around once he realized that he hadn’t pointed the sign up and stumbled back into the house, door slamming behind him. Once he had made it up to Rita’s bedroom, he simply flopped down on the covers. No bother trying to get anything but his loafers off. He briefly thought about the note but thankfully, sleep claimed him soon.

 

_You didn’t show.  
_

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Unsurprisingly, Rafael Barba awoke with the hangover to shame all hangovers.

Not even the one he had after the fraternity party in Harvard where he was so drunk he jumped into the university’s fountain in only his boxer briefs had been this bad. Then again, he was older now. Rafael groaned. Now _that_ really made him feel better.

 

After a hot shower and about a pot of coffee that would wake the dead, he felt somewhat like an actual human being again. He opened the fridge only to be faced with the entirety of his stupidity. Which meant about seven Tupperware containers full of his favorite food. Yes, he never had been good at measuring his meals to fit the actual amount of guests.

 

He slammed the door shut.

 

Passing the huge windows in the foyer, he saw the red sign sticking up – and he pointedly ignored it. Not very mature, he knew, but he just couldn’t deal with this right now.

 

He would be dealing with a very specific other construction site he had to clean up: Contacting Trevor. Rafael shuddered at the prospect but it was the adult thing to do. So he grabbed his phone and, after checking that is was a reasonable time to call someone, he dialed the number. He did have a fridge full of food after all.

 

“Rafael …” Trevor’s melodic voice waved through the mobile device and seemed to soothe his still present headache instantly. “Nice to hear from you again.”

 

Rafael snorted, “Yes, I know. I am a terrible person and if there’s anything I can offer you it is at least an explanation.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that it’s the only thing you could offer me …”

 

Rafael rolled his eyes but grinned, “You are, as usual absolutely right. Which is why I am going to invite you to dinner tonight …”

 

‘The dinner you have cooked for another man …’ his inner voice supplied helpfully.

 

Trevor exhaled, “You know how I like cooking, just come over yourself …”

 

Now Rafael exhaled. Right, Trevor usually wanted to be in control of things. It had been amongst the few things he had not been dealing with too well when they had been in a relationship back then. But, he had been learning from his past mistakes. Recent and less recent.

 

“As generous as that offer doubtlessly is, it would make me feel so much better if I, for once, did something for you.” As he was under the impression that he would soon be faced with complaints, he continued, “And I feel like lechon con moros y maduros tonight. And we both know that even though you’re a true chef with other meals, you cannot pull that one off.”

 

“Not fair! I am still convinced the meat caught fire completely on its own.”

 

Rafael chuckled, “Yeah, after you had drenched it in alcohol and then tried to roast it. Seriously Trevor, you cannot burn down either your own or Rita’s house.”

 

“Point taken”, Trevor laughed. “What would the neighbors say?”

 

“Exactly”, the Cuban grinned and marveled at how Trevor could make him laugh even though he had a hangover following one of the worst nights of his life.

 

“Would you at least allow me to bring wine?”

 

Rafael winced at the mention of further alcohol but if he refused, Trevor would know that something was up. So he answered, “I would even say that I would expect you to.”

 

A laugh followed, “See you at seven?”

 

The Cuban winced again but confirmed. Trevor, on the other hand, seemed ecstatic, “Great! I’ll bring your briefs along with the wine.”

 

Rafael groaned.

 

 

 

As much as he hated himself for it, at about four in the afternoon, Rafael couldn’t ignore the mailbox anymore. So he ventured outside and peaked in, almost as if he expected a wild animal to jump at him.

 

Well, what he saw thankfully wasn’t a wild animal, but a – for lack of a better word – shitload of post-it notes. Rafael sighed and started to pull them out, once sticky yellow note at a time. As there was no way he would be able to get some order into this assemblage of statements, he simply began to read once he was inside.

 

_It must have been. – Not possible. – I mean, it has been four years. – Even though I don’t know what happened, I truly want to apologize. – I am so sorry, Rafael. – Tomorrow. Your tomorrow, obviously. – Something must have happened – What do you mean by I didn’t show up? – Please talk to me. – Rafael? – I have even saved it into my phone already … - It means the world to me to finally meet you – Let’s reschedule! – Rafael! – Please give me another chance. – Maybe there was an accident! – I cannot understand this! – Rafael, please don’t go all silent on me. – I would wait another four years if I had to._

 

The Cuban sighed. The worst part about these notes was that he truly believed every word scrawled on there. Even though he had been proven wrong the night before. The seven containers of food were testament enough.

 

Rafael shook his head. This had to end. So he wrote another letter to Sonny and hoped that he would finish in time to have the food reheated before Trevor arrived. Otherwise, the other lawyer would never let him hear the end of it.

 

_Dear Sonny,_

_thank you for all your notes. I have read them even though not in correct order. It simply was impossible to decipher when you wrote what but I get the general idea._

_The general idea being that you are sorry that you stood me up. And you must believe me if I tell you that I do believe you. I am convinced that you are sorry. But the thing is that you are sorry in 2014 and I am hurt and alone in 2018. There are four years in between us, Sonny. Do you know what can happen in four years? You can find a perfect partner. You can have children. You could get a job on another continent, for all I know. You can – and obviously have realized that I am not the right person for you. Which is the right thing._

_I am way too old, way too cynical and way too … spent and carved by life for somebody as positive and energetic as you. So I am telling you this, Sonny:_

_Go live your life and do not wait around for me. It’s a waste. A waste of four years in which you could find all the luck in the world._

_As I claim to know you well enough to know that you are not going to listen to me, I am going to make you do exactly what I want by telling you this:_

_In about two hours’ time an ex of me is coming over for dinner. We have recently gotten to re-connect, completely by accident and by a very nosy friend of mine, and I know that he is going to ask me if we re-start where we have broken off. And I will agree. Because he knows me, he does not have to make sacrifices in order to be with me and he is good for me. And he is here. I need somebody in my life who is with me at this moment in my life and – I have to admit – sadly, this person is or cannot be you._

_And that’s alright. It really is._

_So please Sonny, I beg you, go on with your life._

_I will and I wish you all the best. I pray that everything you ever wanted to will find its way to you. Because you deserve it. You are a wonderful person, Dominick Carisi, and I am sure you will find your way._

_But I have to find mine as well._

_Yours,_

_Rafael_

By the time Trevor arrived with a bottle of wine and a bag that, Rafael knew, contained his undies, the letter was placed inside the mailbox and Rafael had indeed managed to make everything look like a decent meal.

 

He greeted the other lawyer with a smile and a chaste kiss.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

**_~ One year later ~_ **

 

 

“So tell me Trevor, why did you and Rafael break up the first time again?” Liv asked from where she sat next to Noah on the floor in her apartment. Rafael rolled his eyes; she had asked him that very question about a thousand times over the last year. Probably because he hadn’t told her that he had been seeing Trevor when she had been dealing professionally with the lawyer.

 

Trevor smiled at Liv and crooked his head, “For the life of me, I don’t know …”

 

Rafael nodded, pleased. “Right answer”, he praised before he pecked the man sitting next to him on the sofa in Liv’s living room on the lips.

 

“You two seem awfully cozy …” Rollins commented from one of the chairs, Jesse somewhere around her feet and Billie bouncing on her knee.

 

“Disgustingly so”, Fin supplied helpfully from the kitchen. Rollins laughed at that while Stone only averted his eyes. Bless his Irish soul!

 

 

Liv had called Rafael about a week ago and announced this little gathering in her flat next Saturday evening – to catch up, she had said. And Rafael had agreed, without asking Trevor first. He had been sure that he would agree as well as he always told Rafael that he should keep the ties to his friends intact. Even though the Cuban rolled his eyes at that most of times, he knew that Trevor was right. But his job made it difficult. Even though he hated to admit it but after a day at university, he simply enjoyed going home and do nothing. Boring old man that he was.

 

He had taken up teaching almost as soon as Trevor had persuaded him to return to Manhattan. With him. Not quite sure if it had been the right thing at the time, Rafael ultimately agreed. It all went a bit fast for his liking but, as Trevor so helpfully supplied all the time, they knew each other. They really did. And Trevor had helped Rafael so much during his period of figuring out what he wanted to do with his life that Rafael felt that he kind of owed him – big time. Trevor had fully supported Rafael’s decision to teach even though he told him that his skills in the courtroom would be missed. “But don’t you see Trevor, I am going to pass them on …” Rafael had smirked after which Trevor had rolled his eyes, “God help us all …”

 

There was still this little voice at the back of his head that told him that it truly had been Sonny who got him thinking about teaching – the whole mailbox exchange of case notes triggering his idea – but that lay in the past now. The occasional resurface ignored.

 

It was rather easy to keep one’s eyes on the present; more so when Trevor told the whole bunch of people in Liv’s living room that they had decided to move in together. Once Rafael saw the eyes of his friend light up in surprise, he felt the urgent need to interject: “That’s not final …”

 

Trevor took Rafael’s hand in his, “But we’ve talked about it … You spend so much time at my house anyway. Why would you continue paying the horrendous rent?”

 

The Cuban took a breath, “Because I value my freedom and I can afford to, now that I’m back working and everything.”

 

Trevor sighed, which had Rollins’ raise her eyebrows. “I’m just asking you to think about it, that’s all.”

 

“And I just ask you to give me a little more time to think about it …” Rafael countered. They had had the argument for about two months now. And he knew he was being a little childish, but he just wasn’t ready for next big step yet. There had been too much of them during the last year and a half. Not that he would tell the whole SVU squad that. He had told Trevor though …

 

“Well, I think it’s good news, one way or another”, Liv, the ever present mediator, announced with a smile. She got up from the floor, patted Rafael’s shoulder and offered him more wine. The Cuban accepted gladly, noting the disapproving look on Trevor’s face. He, however, decided to ignore it.

 

“I’ll say”, Fin said before he sat down next to Rafael, “We can use some good news after that week.”

 

“Hear hear”, Rollins said, trying to keep the wriggling toddler in check.

 

Rafael listened up. Even a year after leaving the squad – and despite Peter Stone’s presence who mainly tried to entertain the kids, Rafael realized with wonder – he still felt like he worked with them. “What happened?”

 

Liv waved her hand in the air, “We just had a really stressful case … Domestic violence situation. It was horrible.”

 

“Almost got our new detective killed …” Fin elaborated, “The kid went in and didn’t check the perp for weapons. It wasn’t pretty.”

 

“Is he – he?” Liv nodded, “Is he okay?” Rafael asked shocked.

 

Liv smiled, even though tightlipped, “Thankfully he is. It’s a graze only, he was damn lucky.”

 

Rollins nodded, while she got up so she could bounce Billie around a little more: “Yeah, thank God. For a minute there I thought he would pull a Carisi.”

 

The reason why Rafael did not notice Liv’s accusing “Amanda!” was probably the shivers that ran through his body. “What was that?” he croaked after he had regained some of his composure.

 

Fin muttered “A silly and _tactless_ joke” next to Rafael.

 

Still, the Cuban could not – would not let this go. “Did you just say Carisi?”

 

“Uh yeah”, Rollins confirmed a little taken aback.

 

“Dominick Carisi?” Rafael asked while he hoped that the conclusions he drew were all wrong and the whole living room-gathering would laugh at him.

 

Liv, however, confirmed his suspicion. “Yes. Did you know him?” his friend asked taken aback. “I thought you two hadn’t met …”

 

“Not …” Rafael had to clear his throat to keep his voice from failing, “Not through SVU.”

 

Trevor laid a hand on Rafael’s shoulder mumbling an “I’m sorry Rafael.” That action alone made Rafael feel like the worst human being on the planet. He could not tell Trevor that Dominick Carisi had been Sonny with the mustache. The reason they had broken up the first time. The reason he had invited Trevor over to dinner the second time. Because Sonny hadn’t shown up. Couldn’t show up.

 

“You didn’t know he was dead?” Rollins asked incredulous. Rafael only shook his head trying his best to keep his tears in check. “What happened?” the lawyer asked once he had taken a deep breath.

 

It was Liv whom Rafael focused on – his constant anchor.

Her eyes shone with compassion whilst everybody else looked at him as if he was crazy. Maybe not Billie. She gurgled on as if nothing had happened. As if Rafael’s world hadn’t come to yet another complete halt.

 

Liv started: “It uhm … It was another case of domestic violence. The perp had taken his wife and their two girls as hostages in their own home. He had continuously abused the three women. Sexually. It was the elder daughter who had said something at school – because her PE teacher noted the bruises around her wrists. She was sixteen, the smaller girl was only eight.”

 

“Jesus Christ!” Trevor shuddered next to him and Rafael was highly aware that there were three children in the room who probably should not witness this conversation. Then again, they had probably heard worse.

 

Liv took a quick glance over to Trevor before she continued, “The house was surrounded. We had negotiated that he would let his wife and one daughter out. Everybody thought that it would be the smaller girl. But out came the mother and the sixteen year-old. They had just gotten out on the veranda when part of the house exploded. The perp had set fire to their kitchen, killed himself in the process. The mother had cried that her baby was still in the basement. Carisi – he ran in, all warnings aside, and tried to get the girl out.” Rafael, despite himself, smiled a little. It sounded like Sonny. “The uhm … the house collapsed not half a minute after Carisi had gotten in. We found him in the area that supposedly led out of the basement, girl in his arms.”

 

Rafael smiled sadly while a tear slipped down his face. He nodded. “Thank …” he cleared his throat yet again, “Thank you for telling me.” Liv squeezed his hand.

 

He was vaguely aware of Trevor running his hand over Rafael’s back, when Rollins started: “Bloody overeager puppy. He should have stayed out. Most of all because the girl was already dead.”

 

It felt as if the weight of the whole world crashed onto Rafael’s shoulders in that moment. He completely ignored Fin’s “Amanda!” and Liv’s “Was that really necessary?!”

 

Rafael took a shaky breath: “What do you mean the girl was already dead?”

 

Neither of them said a word, so Rollins shrugged, “The pathologist said that the girl had been dead before the fire had started. For an hour or even more. Perp had separated the women. The mother was in their bedroom, the older daughter in the living room and the small girl in the basement. He most likely killed her and the other two women didn’t even know.”

 

Rafael felt as if his brain had been sucked out of his skull. Like he was floating in vacuum. He could have arranged himself with the fact that Sonny had died a heroic death. That he had saved the girl – given her a few moments of hope before both of them died untimely deaths. But to learn that he had sacrificed his life for a dead body … Rafael couldn’t hold back the tears that were now flowing freely. “Sorry …” he croaked. “I’m sorry …”

 

“You two were friends?” Noah, suddenly popping into Rafael’s field of vision, asked before he – absurdly – offered Eddie, his plush elephant, to Rafael. The lawyer nodded and clumsily took the elephant, “Yes. You could say that … A long time ago.”

 

By the time Trevor’s hand on Rafael’s back stopped moving, Rafael knew that the other man had put two and two together. Maybe he didn’t know that Carisi was _Sonny_ but he definitely knew that he had been close to Rafael. A past lover.

 

“Funny, he never mentioned that he knew you …” Liv said.

 

Rafael gulped, “He probably didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb.”

 

Rollins snorted which earned her annoying stared from practically everyone. Once she realized it, she held the arm not clinging to her toddler up in mock-surrender. “Hey, come on guys. He was over eager and a wiseass. Trying to prove himself on every occasion that he got. Don’t be hypocrites and say that it didn’t annoy you as well.”

 

“He was a little … much sometimes”, Liv admitted and Rafael smiled sadly: “He was desperately trying to fit in. He had been handed over from district to district before …”

 

Liv smiled up at him ruefully. “He would have made a fine detective. No one is born a SVU-detective, you have to learn along the way …”

 

Rafael couldn’t even find the words to tell his friend how grateful he was that she said that. Then again, he probably didn’t have to. Liv always understood.

 

“You’re right …” Rollins admitted, “I mean everybody of us needed a little time to adjust, right?” Fin chuckled and Liv nodded. “Still, he was a little weird, don’t you think?”

 

“Define weird …” Stone asked, finally contributing to the conversation from the floor where he played Lego with Jesse. Fin mumbled a “Touché” while Rollins rolled her eyes. “Well Stone, at least you don’t drive out to the Hamptons every single weekend …”

 

While Rafael felt like he was electrocuted, the new ADA raised his eyebrows: “And that’s weird because …?”

 

Rollins waved her toddler-less hand, “Because he didn’t even own a house. Or visit somebody. He simply parked his car on the road and stared onto an empty house. If that isn’t weird I didn’t know what is.”

 

Liv frowned, “And you know this because …?”

 

Rollins rolled her eyes, “Because I spied on him, sue me. Didn’t you ever realize that it took him ages when we were calling him in on weekends? So one weekend, I decided to follow him. He drove to the Hamptons, parked his car on the street and stared onto the house. Well into the next morning. It was insane! I even wanted to ask him about it, but then the whole fiasco happened …”

 

Rafael hadn’t even realized that he started crying. Only when Noah snuggled close to him, asking “What’s wrong Uncle Rafa?” he covered his face with his hands. At least three tissues were held under his nose the second afterwards and he blindly took one. “You have no idea what you’re talking about Rollins …” Rafael chastised the detective. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

 

He did not expect said breath to actually clear his head. However, it did.

 

His head snapped up: “When was this?”

 

Rollins frowned at him, “When was what?”

 

Rafael threw up his hands and almost smacked Trevor in the process, “The house, when did the house collapse?!”

 

“Four years ago …” Rollins supplied helpfully.

 

Rafael rolled his eyes, “The date Rollins, THE DATE!”

 

“Hell if I know …” the blonde muttered.

 

“February 18th” Fin supplied and Rafael could have kissed him. Today was the 16th. This could work, it could actually work.

 

Rafael hoisted Noah up and practically smashed him into Fin. “I have to go!” he screamed and jumped up from the sofa, leaving five perplexed looking adults and three children who didn’t really care behind. “Rafael?” Trevor asked confused while Rafael was already grabbing his coat from the wardrobe, pulling the door open. “I’ll explain later”, he shouted and was out the door.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

For the first time in his life he took the stairs from Liv’s apartment. For the first time he did not wait and call an Uber. For the first time he paid the horrendously high fee of a taxi ride to the Hamptons. It was insane. Maybe he would have to move in with Trevor after all.

 

Trevor! Rafael had no idea how he would explain this to his partner. But he had to take the chance. Inwardly, he prayed the whole ride that this plan would work out. That Sonny would drive out to the Hamptons this weekend again. That he would focus on the mailbox in front of Rita’s house like a _weirdo_ again. God, he could have strangled Rollins!

 

Then, Rafael realized he hadn’t any paper with him – and no pen. He knocked on the driver’s window. “Sorry, do you have pen and paper?” he asked nervously, his knee bouncing since he had gotten in that damn vehicle.

 

“Uh, sure … Does it have to be clean?” the driver asked and Rafael rolled his eyes. “As long as you can make out the pen it will do …”

 

This had him scribble yet another letter, more messily than ever before.

 

 

_Dear Sonny,_

_I pray to God that you will read this letter. I’ll have you know that I haven’t prayed in years._

_On February 18 th 2015 you will have to go on a case. Domestic violence. A guy will blow up his own house while a girl is still inside. The mother will beg whoever to go inside and get her (other) daughter._

_Sonny, I beg you, do not go into that house! It will collapse. The girl in the basement will be dead. The perp will kill her long before he starts the fire. Please Sonny, do not go in there. You will die._

_If this actually works – and you have no idea how much I hope that it will – I will be waiting in front of our mailbox, February 16 th 2019, about nine at night. _

_Please listen to me. Do not go into that house and meet me there ... Here … Ungh! You know what I mean._

_I love you._

_Yours,_

_Rafael_

 

The second Rafael had paid the truly atrocious cab fee – his bank would question is sanity – he sprinted out and towards the mailbox. Almost tripping over the stupid sidewalk, he yanked the lid of the metal container open, stuffed his letter in and pushed the red sign up.

 

Out of breath, he waited.

 

His heart hammered in his chest, he heard blood rushing through his ears. How long had it been? Minutes? Seconds? Why on earth didn’t Sonny see the red sign?

 

Rafael sank to his knees and, despite himself, prayed. Prayed that the detective had found his way to the Hamptons that particular weekend back in 2015. “Please Sonny, be here. Be here. Be here! Pull the sign down, oh please God, make him see it.” He repeated like a mantra over and over.

 

Nothing happened. Rafael started to cry. He cried for a love that he never had.

But then again, he realized that he had. He was in love with Sonny like he had never been with anybody else before. And even though he couldn’t act on it – at least not in the way he wanted – he knew what it felt like.

 

He got up from his knees, smiling bittersweetly at the house in front of him. Sonny was there, in every painted windowpane, every wooden tile, every plant in the garden. Sonny was there, in his heart. And he would always remain there.

 

Rafael gulped and vowed to himself that he would visit Sonny’s grave – even though it most likely was on Staten Island. He would break up with Trevor. Again. This wasn’t what he was looking for. Trevor was a substitute and he as well as Rafael himself deserved better. They didn’t click. They functioned really well but they didn’t click.

 

Taking one last look at the house in front of him he took a deep breath. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to come back again. It would most likely hurt too much.

 

Rafael laid a hand on the mailbox, sign still pointing high up in the air, and patted it lightly. “Thank you, Sonny. Goodbye.”

 

He swallowed the upwelling tears and walked down the driveway. Of course, the cab was long gone. Rafael put a hand in his coat pocket only to realize that he didn’t have his phone with him. Right, he had left it on the table in Liv’s flat.

 

Chuckling and shaking his head, he walked down the driveway. He would get to New York somehow, and if he had to travel by hitchhiking. At this time of year, it was highly unlikely that anybody would be residing in their _summer_ homes. So he could stick the potential call of yet another cab up his ass.

 

Suddenly, there was a screeching sound from behind him.

Rafael whipped around so hard that he almost fell over. In the darkness, he couldn’t see if the sound belonged to what he was hoping for. He hurried back up the driveway only to see that the red sign was pulled down. Yet again, he started to cry, but this time due to an entirely different reason. He covered his eyes and took a deep breath.

 

The almost deafening silence was cut by a closing car door. Rafael sniffed, quickly wiped his eyes and looked down the driveway where he saw and tall figure jogging up. Once the man stood in front of him – tall, gangly, greying hair and with a dimpled smile – Rafael released yet another sob. “Sonny.” There was no doubt, no doubt in the world.

 

“Rafael” Sonny stated amusedly, “Fucking finally, I’d say …”

 

The Cuban acted on autopilot as he threw his arms around the tall frame in front of him and hugged the living hell out of Dominick Carisi. Needless to say, he generally was no hugger. “Thank God …” he mumbled somewhere next to Sonny’s ear as he felt the other man hugging him back. Strong hands ran over his back as he inhaled the delicious scent of the other man.

 

Taking a step back reluctantly, both men finally looked at each other.

 

“You’re here …” Rafael said, still marveling at having everything he had just made his peace with right in front of him.

 

Sonny chuckled, “Yeah … And I believe I’ve got you to thank for that. So thank you for saving my life and everything …”

 

Rafael would have loved to tell everybody who ever asked about their first – well, second – kiss that it was romantic and playful and that they had taken their time. Lips meeting slowly in the exact middle between both them. Violins in the background. Birds singling despite the cold February air. The reality though was a desperate and clumsy kiss with too much saliva and nose bumping. Still, Rafael did not care. The violins were there in his head, thank him very much.

 

Sonny laughed afterwards and if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing Rafael had ever heard he didn’t know what was. Screw his imaginary violins.

 

“Okay, yeah, we need to work on that”, Sonny chuckled and Rafael let his head drop onto the other man’s shoulder. He shook his head, “Sorry, I just …”

 

His chin was held up by two gentle fingers so he was able to look into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. "Don't you dare apologize …” Sonny said before he kissed Rafael gently. The way the other man licked playfully at his bottom lip let a swarm of butterflies in Rafael’s belly loose. He sighed contently and wrapped his arms around Sonny’s middle. Much better. So he decided to open his lips …

 

“Yes that was much better”, Sonny said a little breathless after they had made out like teenagers in front of Rita’s house.

 

“I second that …” Rafael grinned and framed Sonny’s face with his hands. “You’re here”, Rafael repeated, “You’re really here.”

 

“Yeah”, Sonny grinned, “After that letter, who was I to refuse? Was that a … Pizza wrap you wrote it on?”

 

Rafael blushed as he really had no idea what it had been, “Possible. I didn’t have anything to write with me once I learned what had happened to you so I simply asked the cabbie to give me something to write.”

 

Sonny’s face moved into a frown. “The cabbie?” Rafael nodded, “You paid a cab to get to the Hamptons?” Another nod. “But surely not from New York …”

 

“Manhattan. I hope you still want me even though I’m bankrupt.”

 

Sonny laughed out loudly, “You really did mean the _I love you_.”

 

Right, he had written that. Rafael rolled his eyes, “I had to make you listen to me somehow, didn’t I?”

 

That dimpled grin again, “It worked. And I love you too.” They shared another toe-curling kiss.

 

After they had grinned at each other like lunatics, still clinging to each other, a though crossed Rafael’s mind: “Hey, are you still working with SVU?”

 

Sonny nodded, “Yup, still Detective Carisi.”

 

“Hmm…” Rafael hummed, crooking his head.

 

“What?” Sonny wanted to know.

 

Rafael shrugged, “I’m just contemplating if you still working with SVU means that due to the change of events I don’t have to break up awkwardly with my boyfriend of only minutes ago.”

 

Sonny shook his head chuckling, “Practicing bigamy, seriously Rafael!”

 

“Hey, I did not take the time to break up with Trevor while I was in a hurry to save your ass. Sorry, to disappoint …” Rafael shot back noticing that they bickered again. And he loved it.

 

Sonny placed another kiss on his lips, “You could never disappoint me. … Wait a minute, Trevor? Trevor Langan?”

 

Rafael nodded. Right, Sonny was with SVU, surely he knew about the guy who legally represented Noah’s interests. Sonny frowned, “Only a rumor, but I heard through the grapevine that he spends an awful lot of time in Stone’s office.”

 

Now Rafael frowned, “Peter Stone? The new ADA?”

 

Sonny nodded. Rafael frowned, “The grapevine being Carmen, I presume?”

 

The greying-blonde snorted, “Right. Yeah, Carmen told me.”

 

Rafael pursed his lips, “Then it most likely is true. Interesting …”

 

Sonny raised his eyebrows, “Still not over your recent ex?”

 

The Cuban laughed out loudly at that one, “It really is a bit early, you know … No, I meant Stone”, he emphasized. “Back at Liv’s flat, _this afternoon_ I might mention, Stone has looked away almost embarrassed once Trevor had kissed me. I thought …” The metaphorical penny dropped, “I thought that he was embarrassed about two men kissing each other while in reality he …”

 

“… was jealous.” Sonny finished, “Don’t be too quick to jump to conclusions, counsellor!”

 

“Not anymore”, Rafael smirked, “Now, it’s Professor.”

 

Sonny bit his lip, “Yes, I am aware …”

 

His mind quickly drifting towards very inappropriate roleplay, Rafael suddenly snapped back into reality: “Wait! You work with SVU which means that you were there when I worked there. Did we … I mean, have we … you know …”

 

“Maintained a relationship while working together?” Sonny supplied while Rafael only nodded. “Nah.” Sonny declined very eloquently. “You cannot imagine how torturous the last four years were, Rafael. You being there, in your sharp suits that complimented your great ass … Why did you never mention that you had such a great ass, Rafael?”

 

The Cuban rolled his eyes, “Yeah, because that would have been incredibly modest.”

 

Sonny tsked, “Yes, because you’re the modesty in person.”

 

“Somehow I liked you better when you hero-worshipped me …” Rafael joked and Sonny smiled. He leaned in towards Rafael and both met in yet another heated kiss.

 

“Okay”, Sonny said while pulling back a little, “We really need to take this somewhere else, because … well …” his eyes found their groins, where their bodies were still flush against each other. It was only then that Rafael noticed that he was beginning to harden. Most likely, Sonny was not faring any better.

 

“What do you suggest, Detective? Your car? Public indecency?” Rafael teased.

 

Sonny crooked his head, “Even though I have some Sinatra in my car …”

 

Rafael interjected with an, “Of course you do.”

 

“Hey! It’s a classic!” Sonny defended himself which had Rafael chuckle. “What’s the other option?” the Cuban wanted to know. Because no matter how turned on and in love with Sonny he was, car’s backseats have never been his preferred place for sex.

 

Sonny positively beamed at him: “I still have a set of keys of the pool house.”

 

 


End file.
